


B.F.F.

by Go0se



Series: Prettiest Girl At The Party [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Flying Nutella, Frequent misuse of trees, Friendship, Gen, Girls avenging each other's broken hearts is totally punk rock, Girls' Night, Prompt Fic, Teenagers, Trans Female Character, Trans Girl Frankie Iero, Vandalism, questionable decisions after 12 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go0se/pseuds/Go0se
Summary: It was early fall, 1997, and Frankie's best friend had just had her heart broken. This called for some good old-fashioned revenge.





	B.F.F.

**Author's Note:**

> Initially started this for a tag challenge in April, which, may have missed the mark on that! Maybe just a little. Sorry, y'all. \o/  
> The tags we had to include were the following (as also seen above):  
> -Frequent misuse of trees  
> -Flying Nutella  
> -questionable decisions after 12 am
> 
> The title is taken from Frank's song B.F.F., which can be listened to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ec_pf3mOIk). Based off of my previous fic 'A Solid Right Hook' (which you can totally read if you want coughs product placement), and set between the second and third chapter. Set way before 'Jinx Removing', for obvious reasons.  
> Fun facts: Nutella was first sold as a product in 1965; and the University of Fordham's Gabelli School of Business was ranked #27 for their undergraduate program in Bloomberg Best Undergraduate Business Schools, 2016.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> \--

Sure, Frankie didn’t have all the story, but she didn’t need all the story. There were only three important facts to consider:

1) Nathan Cooper and Meghan had been dating for five months. They’d started right before the end of school last year, all throughout summer, and into early October.  
2) That Friday, without any warning, he had broken Meghan’s heart by dumping her in the middle of the after-school hallway rush.  
3), That shit was not going to _fucking_ stand.

Frankie had never liked Nathan Cooper much. He had the same name as her creepy-after-three-drinks uncle, which had been a bad sign to begin with, and he thought the Bouncing Souls were “mediocre”. More importantly, he’d never been as nice to Meghan as Meghan truly deserved from a boyfriend.

It wasn’t entirely untrue to say that Frankie had been a little vindicated by his betrayal. But only a jackass would say that to her best friend when the other girl had been hurting so badly, so Frankie kept her vicious happiness at being right about Nathan Cooper’s character to herself, and offered her services for some good old-fashioned revenge.  
It was Meghan’s revenge, properly speaking. Frankie was just providing the mojo. She was also providing ammunition and the getaway vehicle (her cousin’s old bike he had passed down to her according to the first rules of succession).

 

All of which had led to this. An inhumanly early hour of Sunday morning, Meghan, Frankie, the lawn of Nathan Cooper’s house, a half-empty jar of Nutella, a bagful of tomatoes from Frankie’s mother’s garden that had gotten all mushy and mouldy, and about a yard of bungee cord liberated from Meghan’s family’s garage.  
“This is a bad idea,” Meghan whispered for about the fifth time since they’d left. She was grinning just a little, though. It was the first time she’d looked anything like happy since Frankie had rolled up on her bike to find the other girl leaning on the wall by the front doors of her school, shellshocked and tearful .  
Frankie looked down from her work and grinned back. “I know, isn’t it awesome?”  
Meghan nodded, then shifted to look through the security fence a few feet behind them (climbing it’d been easy) and along the dark street beyond it. “We’re way too exposed here.”  
“Don’t worry, we’ll move fast.” Frankie finished tying the bungee cord to the oak that was helpfully placed in front of the Coopers’ house, and then hopped down. It wasn’t a very tall tree; the limbs were low enough that Meghan had been able to give Frankie a boost. She was sorry to misuse it this way, but she wasn’t going to break any of the branches or anything. “Sorry, tree,” she added to it with a gentle pat on its trunk.

The plan was simple: get in, cause property damage, get out. The traditional thing would’ve been to show up at nightfall the day of the betrayal and chuck a bunch of rotten eggs at the place, but: 1., Frankie and Meghan lived in Jersey, and they were not about to get found facedown in the river by a NYC ferry two weeks later.  
And 2., Frankie had been vegan for five months now and she didn’t want to be a douche about it to anybody who can’t afford the amount of cheese-free pizza she now consumed, but it’s still _kind_ of a big deal, so obviously she couldn’t use factory farm eggs in any revenge plot she’s participating in.  
Thus the tomatoes.

At 1:35am it still wasn’t the safest time to be outside, but the bars let out at three so they had a window to avoid most of the drunken assholes. Plus, it was the earliest they could crawl out of Frankie’s first floor bedroom without suspicion. Her mom had made them keep the door open. They’d had to wait until the sound of the television from the living room was well and truly the only noise before they could make their escape.

It’s not like they’re some dumb kids too young to be outside alone, anyway. They’re sixteen, and they know their way around their own neighbourhood and how not to attract shitty attention. Neither of them were worried about cops either. Frankie was still grateful for Megan’s sharp eye out, though, and she told her as much under her breath as Frankie dusted off her own jeans from her landing. “Ammunition,” she added.

Meghan dutifully pulled the reeking bag out of vegetable matter out of the grocery bag they’d brought with them and passed it over. Some juice leaked out and sprinkled the ground between them. “Oh that is _so gross,_ ” Meghan whispered, sounding almost like she would’ve laughed.

“ _Isn’t it,_ ” Frankie whispered back, delightedly enough for the both of them. She took the half-empty tub of Nutella that Meghan passed to her next and then unscrewed the lid, chucking it back in the bag which Meghan held open. (They had brought the spread to act as tomato glue-- plus, it just looked like actual shit, which was pretty hilarious.) She hoped none of the grossness would get on her skeleton gloves. Gingerly, she pulled out a couple of the rotten tomatoes, shaking the chocolate spread onto them in gobs.  
When she judged that there was enough to at least keep the tomatoes somewhat together until they hit the house’s wall, she carefully levered a couple of them into the makeshift slingshot.

 

They had seen a security warning sign posted on the fence before they’d climbed over, but Frankie was reasonably sure that’s bullshit. No motion-sensor lights had came on when they’d landed in the yard. And no one in their neighbourhood _actually_ had an alarm system. Putting up a sign for one was like saying your parents couldn’t come to the phone.

As she pulled back the bungee chord for the shot, Frankie muttered a thin prayer to Mary under her breath: _guard us from shitty police officers while we avenge my friend’s honour._

The first splat struck just under the second-floor window and spread in about a mile radius. Both of them held their breaths, just in case, but no alarm went off. Meghan shifted closer to Frankie’s side, her eyes big.

The second hit went even wider than the first. The ungodly juice-Nutella mix dripped down the blue clapboard walls like gore in a Romero movie, and Frankie stifled a manic laugh.

The third sailed through the air and made a terrific landing, and the fourth did the same, by which time they were getting kind of low on tomatoes and their paranoia was starting to skyrocket along with the electric excitment of doing cool shit and not getting caught. Frankie landed the fifth one next to the door and had a mini heart attack when she thought she might’ve hit the bell. But they were all good.

For the sixth strike, Frankie ceremoniously offered the bungie chord to Meghan. The other girl took it, with something almost like a smile, and spent about thirty seconds lining up the shot. She was aiming for the second floor window which was probably Nathan’s, although Frankie wasn’t sure. Her long hair was tied into a ponytail to keep it out of her face, and her expression, as much as Frankie could see it in the low glow of the nearby streetlight, was tight and a little pained.  
Watching her work, Frankie’s own exhilaration faltered. She wished she could just take all of her friend's pain from her eyes. Maybe cheering her up would be more difficult than she’d thought.  
But, hell, that was fine. She would make sure Meghan was happy again no matter how long it took. Certainty and determination rose just as strong as affection in her heart, and Meghan let the sixth shot of tomatoes and chocolate fly.

 

Just as she did, miliseconds before the hit landed, there was the scrape of a window opening. Nathan Cooper’s stupid tired-ass face poked out out of the second floor.

Frankie and Meghan both froze. The entire universe slowed down to a frame-by-frame.  
The yard was dark, and Cooper hadn’t turned on the light in his room, so neither of them could _see_ what happened, but the sound of a chocolate-spread-rotten-tomato mixture hitting a shitty ex-boyfriend’s face was not a thing easily mistaken.

 

For a moment he was silent, maybe too shocked to speak. Frankie used that moment to grab Meghan’s arm and _haul ass_ towards the fence. An instant later Cooper started to shout loud enough to wake the dead.  
Meghan was also swearing, skillfully and quietly, as the two of them scrambled up the crosshatch wire and all-but fell down the other side. They hit the sidewalk running, every light in the Cooper’s family house going on behind them.

“Go go go _gogo! Now!_ ” Frankie hissed, yanking her bike from the overgrown bush she’d stashed it in and hopping on. Meghan knocked into Frankie’s back as she got on to the bike pegs, her hands clamping down around Frankie’s shoulders. They helped each other kick off as more shouting filled the night.

 

Three streets away the noise had faded, and Frankie realized that they'd left the bags and the jar behind.  
Her anxiety tried to latch its skittery little hands onto that fact, but adrenaline was making her go too fast to let it take hold. Fuck it! They were in the middle of Jersey, no cop was going to bother with fingerprinting minor vandalism evidence. They were as good as golden.  
Frankie cackled out loud, skidding down the empty street at breakneck speed. Meghan squeezed her shoulders from behind her.

 

When they finally got back to Frankie’s mom’s house, she ditched her bike in the backyard and boosted Meghan up and through her open bedroom window. Frankie followed, climbing with the ease of a monkey and the knowledge born from a lot of practice.

The dismount into her room was _maybe_ a little more difficult, she might have bashed the side of her shin on her stereo table a little, but the muffled thud and more creative swearing was nothing noticeable.  
Meghan grabbed her arm and lifted her up so she was sitting, asking via wide eyes if she was okay.  
Frankie made the ‘awesome’ sign and leaned back against the wall.

They sat together, wheezing, on Frankie’s bedroom floor.

Meghan turned to her. “You won’t tell anybody, right?” She managed to half-whisper, half-plead, still not breathing right. “I mean, I know _you_ won’t, but not your parents or anybody? If I get into trouble with the cops I won’t be able to get into Gabelli.”  
Of course she’d first worry about her ambition in a time like this. Frankie would die for her. She put her hand over her own heart, then to her mouth, making the universal ‘zip’ motion, then grinned.  
Breathless, eyes bright with mirth and winning mischief, Meghan grinned back. She then shuffled onto her knees and grabbed the pillow from Frankie’s bed, shoving her face into it just as she broke out into peals of laughter. “His stupid _face,_ ” she wheezed, then covered her laughs in the pillow again.

Frankie put her arm back around her best and oldest friend, and pumped her other hand in the air like she was at a show. Mission success.

When Meghan could sit up again, still hiccuping with laughter, she threw her arms around Frankie.  
Frankie hugged back immediately. Ever since third grade Meghan had given the best hugs of anyone Frankie knew. She remained worthy of that title, so many years later.

 

Probably her heart wasn’t yet healed, and they may have had to run more urgently than Frankie had planned for, but they’d gotten their revenge. Kind of _spectacularly._ And most importantly Meghan was happy. Frankie hadn’t heard her laugh like that in months. And there was no way she’d look at the guy and think about anything other than his face covered in tomato gunk for the rest of _ever_. And Cooper didn’t have a single clue.

If he did, it wouldn’t even matter. There was no proof. If he tried to start any shit, Meghan could lie like a champ and Frankie had a solid right hook. 

Together they were invincible.


End file.
